


Keep It Down

by sburbanite



Series: Crotchrockets in Flight: a series of unrelated DaveKat meteorfics about getting an awkward boner for your best friend [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Awkward Sexual Situations, Feels, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Meteorstuck, Non-Consensual Touching, Quadrant Fuckery, Sexsomnia, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-05 18:04:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5385194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sburbanite/pseuds/sburbanite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sleep. You remember what sleep used to be like. Pulling a pillow down over your head, you wonder if Vantas is aware of just how loud his moans are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sleep. You remember what sleep used to be like. The meteor is riddled with echoing metal vents so it’s never been particularly quiet, but the noise coming through the system right now is taking Howie Mandel’s gross blue monster piss. Pulling a pillow down over your head, you wonder if Vantas is aware of just how loud his moans are. Shit, the thought occurs that he may even be asleep. If he’s getting lucky in one of the dreambubbles; good for him. You wish him well on his nightly erotic escapades, but you could really do without the soundtrack. You feel awkward enough in your own company at the best of times, and right now you want to abscond as far as you can from Karkat’s audio peep-show. 

It feels dirty lying in bed listening to him, but this is your fucking room and you won’t be driven from it because you can’t handle a few unwanted troll-noises. Your usual strategy of pretending it isn’t happening has been working perfectly well, aside from spending every day with your head fogged with tiredness. Being a little sleepy is better than breaking the news to him that you’ve been listening to him orgasm. 

Your room isn’t next door to Karkat’s, but the acoustic kinks of the ventilation system mean that the noises from his room transmit into yours with alarming fidelity. It started as a welcome source of entertainment, you could have just moved rooms but instead you’ve enjoyed hearing Karkat muttering to himself as he reads or watches movies. His mumbled commentary on unrealistic plots and idiotic romantic pairings has kept you company during the lonely hours you’ve spent in here. It gave you a secret passageway through his armor, allowed you to calm the enraged little raincloud who started this journey with you. As unlikely as it seems, Karkat is your best friend. Your best friend who happens to be pornographically moaning his way to his third nocturnal climax of the week, practically right into your ear. Snapping your headphones on, you turn up some ambient house. 

Tomorrow, you are going to puzzle out how to alchemize some earplugs if it fucking kills you. 

Groggy with fatigue, you visit the alien pod for a cup of whatever coffee-like liquid it dispenses. You suspect, deep down, that it’s just really bad coffee. Rose wanders over, making you jump when she appears in your peripheral vision. She seems to be picking up some of Kanaya’s drinker stealth, because she’s quiet enough to set off your Bro-senses. You don’t want to stab your sister by accident. That would not be cool, nor would it be excusable by lack of sleep. Rubbing an eye beneath your shades, you greet her with your usual winning charm. 

“Sup.” 

She frowns at you, brows meeting with a look that makes you feel like a lab animal. She can tell you’re tired, and she’s going to try figure out why. She seems to be pleased with her forays into psychotherapy, but she’s much better at breaking people down than building them back up again. You don’t fancy a session with the Freudian wrecking-ball right now. That doesn’t mean you’ll get out of here without getting sideswiped, though. 

“Good morning, Dave. You look tired, are you not sleeping well?” 

Her slight smirk means she knows something. You hope she doesn’t get as clear a line as you do to Vantas’s triple-x hotline. That might make him shamesplode. 

“Nah. Just been up late working on my ill beats. Had to sit by their bedside all night, yo. I ended up having a candle-lit vigil for those beats. It doesn’t look good.” 

She smiles, amused. You remember she has experience with elaborate, ironic funerals. 

“My condolences, Dave. I wish your beats a speedy recovery. If you need something to send you to sleep, you could always try a little “self help.” One of the trolls is certainly taking the opportunity to relax in quite a spectacular fashion.” 

Shit, the sound must be carrying further than just your room. Rose apparently doesn’t know who the star of the show is, though. You guess Karkat doesn’t have a particularly deep voice when he’s in the throes of stuff you won’t be thinking about. Maybe she thinks Vriska has an exhibitionist streak. You suddenly remember that Gamzee lives in those vents. You hope he hasn’t been getting his juggling-balls off to being surrounded by his ex-morail’s satisfied keening. Welp. Now you need to take your brain out and stamp on it because that is the most horrifying thought you’ve had in your entire fifteen years of life. Still, if you’re the only one who knows the identity of the secret sexsomniac, things aren’t a total disaster. You’ve just got to keep your mouth shut, and no-one keeps their mouth shut better than Dave Strider. Or, well, maybe not. For Karkat’s dignity, though, you can refrain from babbling about this to anyone who’ll listen. 

You make a disgusted face at Rose (because your sister just suggested you tug one out before bed, gross), curling your lip slightly from your usual blank expression. She’s made it quite clear that she’s had enough of interpreting a deadpan mask, like squeezing blood from a stonewalling prick. You try and show a little more of your inner self so she’ll stop going on about it. You’re pretty sure there’s no field of psychology that advocates relentless nagging. Maybe that’ll be the Lalondian school of therapy, if you all make it out of this alive. 

Taking your terrible coffee down to Can Town, you find Karkat humming to himself as he follows the Mayor’s gestured instructions. He smiles unselfconsciously at the little Carapacian when his building is finished, giving him a careful high-five. You know he hasn’t seen you yet, he never smiles at you like that. You don’t know why that hurts a little. You scuff one sneaker on the ground to warn him that you’re approaching, not wanting him to know you’ve been watching him. Watching him, listening to him, you’re a goddamned one-man Vantas-research team these days. He probably wouldn’t appreciate the attention, given that you’ve seen him avoid his own gaze in the mirror before. 

“Hey man, brought you coffee.” 

You hand him the second cup, weirdly pleased that you know his routine well enough to appear almost telepathic. Your arrogance irritates him, but he still takes the coffee. Caffeine is the way to a grumpy troll’s pump-biscuit, after all. Not that you’re trying to get up close and personal with his alien physiology. 

“Thanks, Strider. The Mayor wants to expand the financial district, apparently the “economy” is in need of a boost. I think that means he wants us to bring him more cans of beans so he can gulp them all down and then pile up the empty ones. Fuck knows why he won’t just let me cook him some actual food.” 

He looks affectionately over at the tableaux of citizens the Mayor is assembling, and you realize he’s actually standing up straight for once. Vantas normally rolls his shoulders into a defensive position, probably to hide his taboo blood-colour from the ghost of a world that wanted him dead. Today, though, his posture is relaxed. At ease. The reason for that hits you like a rampaging hornbeast. He’s been quite literally working out his tension every night. Now you don’t know what the fuck to do, he’s obviously benefiting from it and you’re the only one really suffering. What kind of bro would you be if you made him feel too self conscious to relax in his own room? Especially since you really shouldn't be listening. You really wish he would relax with a good book or some hot cocoa rather than by choking his bulge, though. Or whatever trolls do when they do…that. 

After a few hours of uncomfortable can-stacking, using the highest tiers of your stoic powers to ignore the ever-loving fuck out of the way you keep catching echoes of Karkat’s nocturnal noises when he speaks or laughs, you excuse yourself and head to the alchemiter. The rest of the day is spent synthesizing a variety of useless items that are most definitely not earplugs (although the MARSHMALLOW BULLETS were the closest). Defeated, you grab a nostalgic dinner of snacks and head back to your room to occupy yourself with fervently hoping that Karkat will give it a rest for this evening. And by it, you mean your ears. You’re almost out of the woods, drifting in the hazy place between waking and sleep, when the noises start again. God fucking dammit. 

Karkat sounds so fucking happy, so relaxed and undone that he sounds downright alien. More alien than usual, that is. He sounds like he’s having the best sex of his life, and you wonder if he’s been experimenting with the alchemiter himself. You can’t imagine that a normal “work-out” session would do this to him. You really want to know what's suddenly got him groaning in the back of his throat. The answer comes through the vents, making it even more difficult to get any sleep. 

“Mmm, oh god…Dave.” 

Well shit. You’re going to miss sleeping.


	2. Chapter 2

You can't take any more. It's been a week since your best friend gasped your name during sex, and you didn't even get to be there to enjoy it. Not that you've been thinking about that at all. Three of those nights have been waking nightmares, and you wonder what the fuck is going on with Troll physiology that enables them to literally go at it all night. Every time you get your snooze on for a couple of hours, some combination of clicks or trills or moans wakes you again. 

You've barely spoken to Karkat, choosing instead to mix some cliche moody rhymes, but he's dragged you out of your pit for movie nights a couple of times. If only your desk chair didn't have wheels. You know that avoiding him is pissing him off, but you really don't want to deal with this mess. He hasn't said your name again, but you've heard him bite down on it. It makes you feel infinitely uncomfortable in more ways than one. 

The most recent way it makes things uncomfortable is the tightness in your stupid god-tier pants, which is so inappropriate you want to die. It's just...hearing him let go like that, knowing some iteration of you is doing it to him - who fucking knows if it's an imaginary Dave or a dreambubble Lothario - is too damn much for your teenage libido. It's inevitable that you end up lying in the darkness, guiltily hard and wishing you were deaf. You can't even bring yourself to deal with the issue...at first. Eventually, after being woken three times in one night then hearing him practically crying for release, it gets too much and you reluctantly give in. Beating off to his noises leaves you feeling satisfied but nauseated. You aren't proud of it. No-one can ever know. Especially Karkat. 

Now, with your boner digging uncomfortably into the mattress, you try and and fail to fall asleep. He's particularly loud tonight. You pray he won't call out your name, lest terrible things happen in your boxers. Well, not objectively terrible. Messy things, at least. You have to physically restrain yourself from humping the mattress when he starts keening. It's so fucking hot and so incredibly wrong. You have to do something about this. Time to take the coward's way out. 

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering  grimAuxillatrix [GA]

TG: hey kan i know your probably asleep  
TG: but i most certainly am not b/c of troll noises  
TG: say i knew who was making them and needed some advice about what to do  
TG: would you hypothetically be able to help   
TG: in the purely fictional scenario when id be asking for help  
TG: and also not tell rose  
GA: Are You Referring To The Noises Karkat Is Making  
TG: maybe  
TG: you know about that huh  
GA: Of Course   
GA: I Can Hear Him From Our Room  
GA: He Is His Usual Loud Self When Doing What I Imagine He Is Doing  
TG: how did you know it was him because rose doesnt seem to   
GA: I Can Smell His Pheromones  
GA: Its A Jadeblood Ability To Sense When Trolls Become Sexually Receptive  
TG: uh why  
GA: In Addition To Caring For The Mother Grub My Caste Were Responsible For Drone Scheduling  
TG: shit are you having weird sexy feelings toward him or something  
TG: fuck sorry  
TG: what am i saying  
TG: just bring the chainsaw and make it quick   
GA: No   
GA: Nothing Like That   
GA: But I Have A Very Strong Urge To Approach Him With A Bucket For His Contribution  
GA: It Is Very Embarrassing  
GA: Not To Mention Inappropriate  
TG: is that why you havent told rose whats goin on  
GA: Yes  
GA: She Doesnt Need To Know I Am Having Bucket Related Thoughts About Karkat  
GA: Even Though I Am Interested In The Contents Rather Than The Process Of Obtaining Them  
TG: shit  
TG: dont worry i am never talking about buckets with my sister ever  
TG: your secret identity as the alien spunk collector is safe with me  
GA: ...  
TG: sorry  
TG: im super tired  
TG: what the fuck does sexually receptive mean for trolls  
TG: is it like uber puberty  
TG: uberty  
GA: I Dont Know What The Refrance On That One Dave  
TG: marry me   
TG: you can still date rose on the side i dont care  
GA: What Is Puberty  
TG: its like your hormones take the reins and suddenly everyone is hot  
TG: maybe even hott  
TG: and you suddenly want to bang everyone at all the worst times  
TG: but you dont because society dictates that continually shoving your dong at people is not polite behaviour  
TG: basically its six years of jerking off in your room and hoping no-one hears  
GA: Um  
TG: then boom societys like your a man now son have a beer and bone people without going to prison  
GA: I See  
TG: sorry  
TG: tired  
TG: control over words dangerously low  
GA: Well The Equivalent Process For Trolls Takes Less Than Half A Sweep  
GA: And Karkats Appears To Have Begun  
GA: He Will Be Feeling An Intense Urge To Pail Hence The Noises  
GA: Followed By A Pre Adult Moult And Growth Spurt  
TG: is it just karkat or is it gonna be all of you guys   
TG: im not gonna have the fucking dawn chorus of horny trolls to deal with soon am i  
GA: No This Is Very Early Indeed  
GA: I Would Guess It Is A Result Of His Blood Color  
GA: Even If He Isnt Technically On The Hemospectrum His Physiology Is Certainly Lowblooded  
GA: His Body Temperature In Particular Points To Him Having A Shorter Lifespan Than The Rest Of Us And Therefore A Faster Physical Development  
TG: shit  
TG: poor dudes horny as fuck and hes also gonna kick the bucket before everyone else  
TG: thats pretty much a shitburger with a side order of curly shits  
GA: Dave Please Stop   
GA: I Am Beginning To Feel Nauseated  
TG: sorry  
TG: im done  
GA: With Regard To His Current Situation  
GA: I Do Not Understand Why Karkat Hasnt Been Attempting To Fill His Concupiscent Quadrants  
GA: I Had Expected Him To Begin Pursuing Terezi Aggressively To Fill The Red  
GA: And Possibly Vriska For Black  
TG: didnt know you were into shipping kan  
GA: I Must Have My Auspistice Skills At The Ready   
GA: Especially Where Vriska Is Concerned  
GA: We Cant Afford To Lose Any More Friends  
TG: damn troll romance is serious shit huh  
TG: i dont get a look in in the karkat quadrant stakes then  
GA: Well No I Hadn't Considered That You Would Be Interested In Quadranting With Karkat  
GA: Except Possibly In A Pale Capacity  
GA: Although You Would Make A Very Nice Red Pairing Now That I Think About It  
TG: what no  
TG: i was kidding kanaya  
GA: I Will Update My Chart Accordingly  
TG: stop dude   
GA: Perhaps This Will Be What Rose Refers To As An "OTP"  
TG: do not spread your baseless gossip about me to rose  
TG: otherwise its the kanayas inappropriate bucket yearnings show hosted by david strider  
TG: except no because im not a complete asshole  
TG: thanks for the help kan  
GA: No Problem Dave  
GA: I Will Keep DaveKat To Myself  
TG: ha ha the ship name totally has me topping  
GA: Topping  
TG: dont ask  
TG: seriously do not ask rose  
TG: she does not need more reasons to interrogate me on my sexuality  
TG: she has all the suggestive torture devices kanaya  
TG: all of them  
TG: were talking the rack as well as the thumbscrews  
GA: I Am Familiar With Her Rack  
GA: That Was A Joke  
TG: ok thats enough for tonight  
TG: dont want to overexert your humor muscles  
GA: Trolls Actually Have Those  
TG: really  
GA: No Dave  
GA: Get Some Sleep And Try Not To Be Upset With Karkat  
GA: He Cant Help It  
TG: no i got that  
TG: not angry just really tired  
TG: night  
GA: Good Morning Dave  


turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering  grimAuxillatrix [GA]

Poor dude. Maybe you should have another crack at the earplugs. Or just move. That might be easier than the alternative. 

An annoyingly perky Karkat drags you to Can Town the next day, determined to show you something. It turns out to be a minature nightclub, complete with alchemized fairylights and a disco-ball made out of foil. There's even a tiny DJ booth with decks made out of bottle caps. The name above the door reads "Striderz". You hold back totally non-ironic tears at the sight of the "z". Karkat has been a loyal padawan to your ironic teachings after all. You notice the way he blushes deeply when you wrap him in a surprise hug, the way his stupid grumpy face lights up and the corner of his lip curls upward. It makes your heart feel light again. 

"This is awesome, Karks. Thanks, dude." 

You offer him a bro-fist, which he bumps with a grin. Maybe full-body contact is a bit much right now. 

"It's just a fucking stack of cans, Strider." 

You know it isn't, it must have taken hours. Fuck, you've missed the hell out of him, this week has been the longest you've spent apart in months. Apparently you're an old married couple or some shit now, except one of you is having all the sex on their own in a room halfway across a space rock. That's a perfectly normal friendship, right there. You vow not to let your squeamishness over his shitty troll puberty get in the way again. You need each other too much. 

The rest of the morning is spent adorning the patrons of Striderz with suitably slutty paper outfits, your head nodding slightly over your scissors as you snip bikini tops and hot-pants for the cylindrical cage-dancers. One of them gets a grubby wifebeater and a paper mullet, which Karkat frowns at. He shoves you affectionately when you explain it's a Nicholas Cage dancer. John would approve. When Karkat wanders off to fetch some food for the two of you, you let your eyes close for just a minute. One minute couldn't hurt, right? 

Waking to Karkat's concerned face is not an ideal situation. It becomes even less ideal when he opens his mouth. 

"What the fuck, Dave? Are you OK?" 

You frown, rubbing one eye. Your head feels like total shit. 

"Yeah man. Just, uh. Tired." 

Karkat's face freezes, and you really need to say something now, right now, before the silence gets any more awkward. 

"Not...uh, been sleepin' too well is all." 

You can feel your face turning red with unwanted emotion as you look anywhere but into his eyes. This is so much worse than the silence. 

Karkat snaps to his feet, his body vibrating with embarrassment. Little scraps of paper swirl in the breeze as he absconds as fast as his undersized legs will carry him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be less sad, I promise. Just as awkward though, probably.

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]

TG: karkat come back dude  
TG: seriously its all fine believe me i dont wanna have like an earnest feelings chat or anything  
TG: lets just bro our way through this shit and into the calm waters of being awesome friends who do whatever the fuck they like in the comfort of their own rooms  
TG: going at bromillion miles an hour until we break through the sound brorrier  
TG: because im feeling like a huge douche right now for admitting to listening to you  
TG: shit  
TG: to accidentally hearing you  
TG: definitely no listening going on i have no idea why i said that  
TG: uh anyway  
TG: our rooms are just connected by some random juggalo infested vents  
TG: im gonna go alchemise a bunch of smuppets to block it up with right now  
TG: thats how bad i feel dude  
TG: im willing to get up close and personal with disturbing puppet phallus for you  
TG: fill my sylladex with plush rumps all jutting out impudently  
TG: have nightmares about them getting dislodged and cascading down on me in a waterfall of multicoloured childhood ruining foam  
TG: actually i have no idea what that vent is even for  
TG: like is it the air supply or the heat or what  
TG: i guess theyre kind of important since its not like we can just crack a window down in the middle of a giant rock ball  
TG: still man id rather have no oxygen than have you not talking to me  
TG: i dunno if self asphyxiation from trying to apologise to your best bro counts as just  
TG: probably not  
TG: definitely not heroic  
TG: meanwhile back at the point  
TG: im sorry is what ive been getting at in my usual shitty way  
TG: kanaya gave me the lowdown on all the throbbing biological troll urges and shit your going through  
TG: humans have all that crap too just not over such a short stretch of time  
TG: it sounds like it sucks giant puppet dongs  
TG: fuck not puppet dongs  
TG: normal dongs  
TG: or other less freudian sucky things  
TG: look i dont want this whole pubescent shitshow to be even worse for you because im a fucking idiot  
CG: YOU SPOKE TO KANAYA ABOUT "THROBBING BIOLOGICAL TROLL URGES".  
TG: uh yeah man   
TG: but she sorta already knew  
TG: its a jadeblood thing apparently  
TG: i didnt give the game away  
carcinoGeneticist [CG] blocked turntechGodhead [TG]  
TG: dont  
TG: fuck

It’s official. Dave strider is the biggest piece of shit on the meteor. Not content with revealing that you’ve been kept awake by his night-time exertions, that you can hear every groan and gasp and cry, you thought you’d drop the news that you’ve been shooting the shit about it with Kanaya. The thought of him imagining that conversation brings goosebumps to your skin; Kanaya acts like his big sister most of the time, sometimes even like his mother. You made chit-chat with his alien Mom about his nightly sexcapades. What the hell is wrong with you? 

Banging on the door to his room doesn’t achieve anything, you don’t even know if he’s in there. After an hour of morosely opening and closing all of the apps on your phone, you abandon your stake-out and check a few other places. He’s not in any of them. As a last resort, you do a few lazy orbits of the meteor, checking the outside spaces. You’re not really expecting to find him. Flying is just an excuse, a distraction. You let your orbit decay until you’re just inches from the communication arrays, finally landing when you catch your foot painfully on the edge of a roof. Letting your mind wander while flying is never a smart call, so now you have fucking limp to match your emotional pain. The perfect portrait of the suffering teen. 

Food holds no appeal right now, and you can’t face the idea of running into anyone else in the common area. Luckily, there are some snacks stashed in your room for safe-keeping. Well, not safe-keeping, exactly, since they cost grist-peanuts to make and no-one is interested in stealing your shit anyway. Deep down, you know it’s like a comfort-blanket or a night-light, something to quiet the part of your brain that repeats _what if the food runs out_ over and over. The instinct to hoard pays off sometimes, though, so you munch some miserable Doritos while you listen intently for noises from Karkat’s room. Silence is your soundtrack as you fiddle pointlessly with some SBaHJ comics. 

The peace and quiet doesn’t make it any easier to sleep. Squirming beneath the blankets doesn’t shift the guilt sitting heavily in your stomach, nothing seems to help. You need to repair your relationship with Karkat, it’s the only one you have that feels truly healthy. Obviously, you love all of your friends, but there’s a space between you and them that you just don’t know how to bridge. Rose hardly ever lets her guard down; all of your conversations inevitably end in nostalgic jokes or mock-psychoanalysis. You don’t know how to get her to really trust you. You miss the shit out of John and Jade, naturally, but things got a little warmer than just friendship when you actually met Jade in real life. Your stomach still won’t let you forget the way it lurched when John sent you his picture, either. The stupid buck-toothed goofy idiot had made you realize just how much you wanted to meet him in person. In the flesh, so to speak. Cluing your mind in to the fact that your body definitely wasn’t just attracted to chicks had been a magical journey of sleepless nights and awkward wet-dreams. 

If that wasn’t bad enough, now the distance between you and them is an entire universe. You can almost feel the friendships stretching out over the light-years, pulled thinner and thinner by each month that passes. The meteor is filled with aliens, and making bonds with them has been fraught with quadrants and cultural offence. Things are easier now, more what you imagine a normal family to be like, but that doesn’t mean you don’t avoid certain family members. Uncle Creeps McJuggalo, to be precise. Terezi and Vriska come as a two-pack these days, buy one cackling siren, get one free. TZ is cool and all, but you'll never understand how she could wager a life on a coin-flip, how she could choose a murderer for a best friend. Kanaya is nice and you like talking to her, but the way she looks at people’s necks hungrily sometimes is off-putting. Trolls are just plain weird, and it’s no surprise that the only one you really feel comfortable with is the one who sort of acts like a human. Who watches stupid movies and lets you fall asleep on him, and never gives you the feeling that he’s just waiting for you to fuck the fuck off because you’ve been babbling solidly for ten minutes, even if he does give you the finger instead. Who agrees that it’s batshit crazy to go around killing your friends. 

This bro-ship you’ve cobbled together from mutual childhood-shittiness, ironic can-stacking and snark was the only thing you’d been sure of. Sure, it was lumpy and patched up and probably didn’t fit into the slot your dead society defined as a “normal friendship”, but that was what made it awesome. You didn’t have to worry about that shit around Karkat. He was something new to be proud of, a person who genuinely seemed to enjoy spending time with you even after he had an idea of how much of an asshole you were. Which is why it hurts so much when you hear the loud, wet sobs echoing through the vents.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Extra bonus update today, because the last chapter was so sad. Next chapter will probably be the last (or not depending on how I feel).

Slinging some blankets and pillows into your sylladex, you run flat-out for Karkat's room, ignoring the protests from your bruised toes. Even if you have to lie across his doorway all night, you will get him to talk to you. There's no way you can let him cry his little eyes out over your stupid insensitive ass. When you get to his door and hear the sounds of his misery first-hand, you freeze. What if he won't let you in and you have to listen to his sobs all night, each one a stab to your dumb coolkid heart? He falls silent when you knock tentatively on the door. 

"Karkat, man, please let me in. I'm so fucking sorry I upset you." 

Silence. 

"Please?" 

You hear him sniff loudly, taking a shuddering breath as he tries to calm his body. 

"Fuck off." He yells it at a fraction of his usual volume, as if he's just too tired for your shit right now. 

Not even "Fuck off, Strider." You've really messed things up. 

"No, dude. I'm not leaving you. I'll fucking sleep out here if I have to but I can't leave you all sad and alone. I know what that's like, OK?" 

The desperation in your voice obviously gets through to him, and you hear the rustle of blankets and the click of his claws across the floor as he shuffles to the door. You compose yourself, wiping away the moisture that has inexplicably found its way onto your cheeks. 

For a minute, all is quiet as Karkat decides whether to let you in. You only realize you've been holding your breath when you feel the burn in your lungs. When the door slides open, you let the air out ungracefully at the sight of him. He's a mess. But he's _your_ mess, you think to yourself as you wrap your arms around his unresisting body. You wonder when you started caring about him this fiercely, down in the core of yourself, so that hurting him feels like driving a white-hot needle into your heart.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Karkat. Please don't hate me for being a moron who can't control his goddamn mouth." 

Karkat sighs, patting your back gently. You wonder if he can feel the warm wetness of your tears soaking through his shirt. 

"Fuck, Dave. You didn't fucking do anything, OK? I mean, it’s embarrassing that you had to ask Kanaya about it, but what the fuck else were you supposed to do? I'm the monumental piece of shit who's been keeping you awake for weeks." 

You let him go, hearing the shake in his words that suggests he's tired and probably going to cry again. You might not have any experience of comforting people, but all of Karkat's terrible romcoms seem to have rubbed off on you because you know the best place for a good cry is not standing awkwardly in a doorway. You steer him towards his bed, and sit both of your asses down on the edge. 

Karkat is silent, staring at his hands as they twist a piece of blanket between them, and for some reason that tugs uncomfortably at your heart. You grab one of them, and his hand curls tightly around yours. 

"C'mon dude, do you wanna talk about it or just watch a movie or something? I don't care as long as it makes you feel better." 

Karkat's reply is shot-through with a deep, intense anger. 

"That's the fucking problem, Dave. Nothing makes me feel better. My stupid excuse for a body has decided to fuck me over yet again, because it's not enough just to be a freakish mutant destined for the sharp end of a culling fork, apparently! No, I also have to become fucking sexually active sweeps before I'm meant to, which means I'll probably have an even shorter lifespan than your feeble species. That's if some colossal asshole doesn't kill me first when we enter the shitstorm at the end of this interminable journey." 

The hand that isn't clutching painfully-tight to yours is busy massaging roughly at the base of one horn. He seems like he's winding up to explode with tears and fury, but you have no idea if it would be better to defuse him somehow or just let it happen. 

"So fucking considerate of paradox space to ensure that I get the opportunity to experience this hell before I get unceremoniously pasted all over the new session. And now I find out that the only thing that made me feel even slightly better is making your life miserable. And now that's probably fucked completely anyway, good job Karkat, way to ruin everything by opening your chitinous windhole as usual.” 

You can feel the worry growing inside you, the feeling of helplessness in the face of the terrible hand he’s been dealt. What the fuck do you say to someone who’s staring down their own mortality through a lens of unbearable sexual frustration? 

“Shit, man. That sucks.” 

Probably not the most eloquent response. You try a hug instead, pressing your face into Karkat’s wild hair. He smells faintly of popcorn, which is so bizarre it makes you snort incredulously. You wonder if it’s a natural troll smell or if he’s just been eating too much of it. This is definitely the most physical contact the two of you have ever had, but you both seem to need it. He’s still sobbing quietly. Awkwardly, you try gently rubbing his back. That’s what people in movies do, after all. 

After a warm few minutes, Karkat sniffs loudly into your shirt and you can tell he’s done for now. You give him your best "everything's going to be OK" smile as he disentangles himself, which he returns weakly. You try to articulate yourself without shoving one sneaker-clad foot into your mouth. 

“Dude, don’t even worry about the noise, OK? I’ll just move rooms or ignore it or something. I dunno, I don’t think it’ll bother me so much if I’m not feeling like a creep for hearing. It’ll just be like all the fucking traffic noise back in Houston, I mean there were ambulances and police cars whizzing past at all hours and it never bothered me.” 

He doesn’t look very impressed. You guess that was probably a few too many Earth references to really get your point across. 

"I mean, shit, just don’t worry, OK? Do whatever you need.” 

Karkat nods and looks down at your hands, which have found each other again. You aren’t sure if you reached for his hand, or he reached for yours. It doesn’t really seem to matter. It’s obvious that he doesn’t believe you, that he’s going to try and force himself to be quiet. Past experience has taught you that trying to find release when you’re stressing about it is a fruitless exercise. 

“Karkat, look at me.” 

He does, and you belatedly remember that your shades are still sitting on your desk. It hadn’t seemed important up until now, but the way his red-rimmed eyes are boring into your soul is almost too much. You hold his gaze anyway. 

“Don’t fucking worry about it, I mean it. I’ve got headphones, I know how to use ‘em. You are not going to feel any worse because of me.” 

Finally, he gives you the ghost of a smile. You relax at last. 

“Fine, Strider. You had your chance to complain, though. No fucking whining if you can’t sleep.” 

“Sure, man. You’ll be the only one whining.” 

His face drops, and you add a hurried “Shit, sorry, no making jokes either. I promise.” 

Karkat growls in reply, a little clicking sound that you translate as “too fucking right.” 

You should probably go back to your room now, let him get on with whatever he needs to do to get to sleep, but the relief at the fact he’s talking to you again, that you didn’t irreparably damage another friendship with your assholery, makes you reluctant to go. You’re about to ask if he wants to watch a movie or maybe read one of his novels aloud or something, when he leans forward and kisses you hesitantly on the mouth. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise, it really shouldn’t. The guy’s been calling out your name while coming, for fuck’s sake. So, why are you completely floored by the fact that his lips are pressed against yours? You remember all of the little things you’ve done together over the last few months; the Can Town nightclub, the movies he dragged you to that weren’t as terrible as usual, the way he already had your favorite snacks prepared and let you fall asleep in the darkness with your head on his shoulder. The way you’ve been finding any excuse to get closer to him, not recoiling from physical interaction the way you do with other people. The jealousy you feel each time you see him smile so openly at the Mayor. Kissing him back suddenly feels like a no-brainer. 

The kiss starts soft, sweet, but it doesn’t take long before Karkat is making needy little noises at the back of his throat and pushing his tongue into your mouth with more passion than you’re prepared for. When you feel his fingers creep around your waist and underneath your shirt, you pull away with a sharp intake of breath. 

Now you don’t know what to do. You kissing him back was definitely a thing that just happened, and you enjoyed the fuck out of it, but he’s obviously in the grip of some fairly intense hormones. Karkat’s pupils are blown right open, his breathing ragged. He really, really wants to fuck you right now, and there’s no way you can cope with that. You’re pretty sure he didn’t just kiss you because he’s stuck in perma-horny mode, he hasn’t made any moves on anyone else, after all. Even though part of you is tempted, this just got a lot realer than you can handle. You remove his hands gently. 

“Dude, I think I should probably retreat to a minimum safe distance. Uh, the kissing is great but I don’t think I can handle what’s going on in your pants right now.” 

There’s definite wriggling going on under the surface of his pyjamas. You try very hard not to look at it. The discomfort on your face seems to snap Karkat out of his sexual trance, his face turning red with embarrassment. He croaks out a barely audible “Yeah no shit.” But doesn’t say anything else. You get up calmly, backing away but trying to make it seem like you’re not fleeing from his raging alien boner. Which is totally what you’re doing. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, man. Gonna go get some sleep.” 

Before you go, you kiss his forehead and smile at him, a genuine little lovestruck smile that probably looks goofy as hell. He returns something similar, a proud “holy shit I just kissed my best-friend and he fucking likes me back” smirk. It looks unbelievably good on him. After the door swishes shut behind you, you allow yourself to wear your smile all the way back to your room, not caring if anyone sees you. You probably couldn't stop if you tried. 

The inevitable Karkat sounds don’t bother you this time, nor does the heat pooling in your stomach. Picturing what he’s doing and feeling like you're actually allowed to do so is incredibly hot, and when he quietly shivers out your name you have to stop yourself from moaning his back to him. You want to save that for when you're actually in the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok so i changed my mind there will be more chapters. It's still going to come out relatively short, (for me) around 10,000 words.

You wake to find Karkat’s name blinking on your chatlog, accompanied by a wall of mortified grey. 

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]  


CG: FUCK   
CG: OK I’M GOING TO ADMIT TO A RARE MISTAKE ON MY PART BECAUSE I DIDN’T MEAN TO START THIS CONVERSATION WITH “FUCK”.   
CG: THAT WAS MEANT TO BE INTERNAL FUCKING MONOLOGUE.  
CG: SORRY.  
CG: WHAT I MEANT WAS I HOPE EVERYTHING BETWEEN US IS NOT COMPLETELY IN THE LOAD GAPER BECAUSE OF STUPID SHIT I DID.  
CG: WHETHER I DID IT BECAUSE OF MY FUCKED UP BIOLOGY IS NEITHER HERE NOR THERE.  
CG: IT’S NOT AN EXCUSE TO THROW MYSELF AT YOU LIKE A DESPERATE IDIOT.  
CG: I UNDERSTAND IF WE’RE NOT FRIENDS NOW, OK?  
CG: I GET IT. I HAD TO MAKE IT WEIRD AND THAT WAS NOT THE WAY I WANTED TO DO THAT.  
CG: NOT THAT I’M SAYING I’VE BEEN PLANNING TO MAKE A MOVE ON YOU, STRIDER.   
CG: GET OVER YOURSELF ALREADY, EVERYTHING ISN’T ABOUT YOU.  
TG: hey dude i feel like im getting yelled at for no reason here  
TG: and its fucking hilarious  
TG: what are you apologising for exactly  
CG: YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I’M APOLOGISING FOR, YOU ASS.  
CG: I’M APOLOGISING FOR INTRODUCING MY DISGUSTING MOUTH PARTS TO YOUR EQUALLY DISGUSTING HUMAN TALKING APPARATUS.  
TG: oh because i kinda thought that was awesome  
TG: i also thought you knew that?  
CG: OH.  
CG: AT THE TIME I SORT OF DID.   
CG: YOU JUST SEEMED PRETTY FREAKED OUT AFTER IT HAPPENED, SO FORGIVE ME FOR TRYING TO BE A HALF-DECENT FRIEND AND WANTING TO MAKE SURE YOU WERE OK.  
CG: CLEARLY I SHOULD FEEL AWFUL ABOUT MY EXCESSIVE CONCERN FOR YOUR FEELINGS.   
CG: IT WON’T HAPPEN AGAIN.  
TG: dude calm your alien rumbly things  
TG: i ollied outie because i knew if i didnt id get an automatic invite to the party in your pants  
TG: and yknow not on a first date man  
TG: im a classy lady mr vantas  
TG: how dare you impugn my honor  
CG: FUCK YOU.  
CG: I’M NOT SO DESPERATE THAT I’D PAIL WITH YOU AFTER ONE FUCKING KISS, ASSHOLE.  
TG: ok well   
TG: sorry if i got that impression from all the trying to take my shirt off and whatever it was doing a full on breakdance routine in your pjs  
TG: i just didnt want to rush things is all  
CG: WHAT THINGS ARE YOU REFERRING TO, STRIDER?  
TG: look i get that your pissed at me for calling you out on the hormones turning you into a ravening fuck zombie  
TG: but i kinda got the impression that it wasnt just about that  
TG: like you actually might have wanted to kiss me anyway  
TG: i mean heres your convenient way out if im wrong  
TG: by all means saunter back into the platonic brozone if thats what you want  
CG: IS IT WHAT YOU WANT?  
TG: no   
TG: but ill understand i guess  
TG: i think ive liked you for a while without really realizing  
TG: but im a grown ass teen ill get over it  
TG: i mean you were seriously high on those hormones dude youd have probably kissed anyone  
CG: FIRSTLY, FUCK YOU. NO I FUCKING WOULDN’T HAVE KISSED ANYONE ELSE.  
CG: SECONDLY, I’M GOING TO LET THAT “WAY OUT” SLAM SHUT SO HARD IT NEARLY BRINGS THE WHOLE METAPHORICAL STRUCTURE DOWN WITH IT.  
CG: I KISSED *YOU* BECAUSE I LIKE *YOU*. NOT JUST BECAUSE YOU HAPPENED TO BE IN THE ROOM AT THE TIME.  
CG: WHATEVER EFFECT THE HORMONES HAD BEGAN *AFTER* YOU RECIPROCATED.  
TG: sweet  
TG: uh i should probably be upfront about knowing you were into me a bit  
TG: on account of  
TG: accidentally overhearing you say my name a couple of times  
TG: at night  
TG: ...  
TG: shit that was like ripping off the biggest bandaid ever   
TG: please reply so that i know i didnt just take off all the skin as well  
TG: the skin is a metaphor for our relationship  
TG: my arm is uh  
TG: the ideal timeline where we end up mackin some more?  
TG: idk  
TG: not exactly on fire right now on account of being worried as shit that youre never gonna speak to me again  
CG: IF I SURVIVE THE LEVEL OF DISPAIR FLUID CURRENTLY COURSING THROUGH MY BLOOD HIGHWAYS THEN I MIGHT BE ABLE TO FORGET THAT YOU JUST TOLD ME THAT AND GO ON WITH MY MISERABLE EXCUSE FOR AN EXISTENCE.  
CG: BECAUSE IF I HAVE TO PROCESS THAT INFORMATION I THINK I WILL PROBABLY SHAMESLPLODE. YOU WILL BE IN CHARGE OF CLEANING UP THE MESS AFTERWARD. IT WILL NOT BE PRETTY.  
TG: ok sure thats my number one method of dealing with shit anyway  
TG: that time i sat on my balls in english class after giving a presentation and let out a stupid girly squeak that everyone kept imitating for weeks afterward  
TG: guess what that didnt happen  
TG: no siree i have no idea what youre getting at there  
TG: what the hell were we even talking about again  
CG: NOTHING, MERCIFULLY.  
TG: there you go man youre a natural  
CG: SO. IS IT OK IF I STILL WANT TO HANG OUT AS FRIENDS?  
CG: IN A NON-ROMANTIC CONTEXT?  
TG: what  
TG: of course  
TG: is this some quadrant bullshit  
TG: do people not just hang out and do regular stuff with their matesprits or whatever  
TG: not saying im your matesprit or anything  
TG: shit  
TG: you know what i mean  
TG: moving swiftly on  
TG: you dont just chill with peeps in the red quadrant  
TG: this is the red quadrant right  
CG: YES, IDIOT.  
CG: AND NO, NOT REALLY. IT TENDS TO JUST BE JUST DATE-TYPE ACTIVITIES.  
CG: MOST TROLLS SPEND THEIR DOWNTIME WITH THEIR MOIRAIL, ONLY I DON’T HAVE ONE SO I GUESS WHO GIVES A SHIT.  
TG: dude if you like me enough to want to hang all the time like usual then im not going to say no to that  
TG: lets just make it up as we go along man  
TG: im not being rose and kanayas third wheel all day so you can show up with a corsage and take me to an imaginary fancy restaurant  
TG: aka whatever you can make in the alchemiter that doesnt taste like premium organic cardboard  
TG: i mean we could schedule some “date nights” or whatever if that makes you feel better quadrantwise  
TG: keep the pale and red segregated like nineteenth century bathrooms  
CG: WHAT IS IT WITH YOU AND SCHEDULING THINGS?  
TG: uh i dunno what you mean there  
TG: i mean im the time dude so i guess i like to plan stuff out  
CG: JUST FORGET IT. IT’S NOT IMPORTANT.  
CG: CAN TOWN?  
TG: sounds great dude  
TG: <3  
CG: <3  
carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

You try and fail to swagger confidently into Can Town, instead sending a pile of cans crashing down when Karkat fixes you with an intense look and a bright red face. You settle for ruffling his hair affectionately, something you know he hates. It breaks the tension nicely. 

“Mornin’ gorgeous,” you venture, using your best southern accent. 

Karkat rolls his eyes in reply, but you note the dusting of pink on his cheeks. Looks like someone likes being complemented. 

The Mayor watches the exchange quizzically, before clapping his little hands together. You have work to do repairing the hotel you just demolished, and the southern district expansion isn’t going to stack itself. There are rumors that a new batch of huddled masses will find their way to the safe haven of Can Town this afternoon, which means you and Karkat will need to take a trip to the vast, echoing storage hold that paradox space saw fit to fill entirely with cans. Carrying cans back up here is a royal pain in the ass, but maybe a chance to go somewhere dark and private with Karkat won’t be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get some self-esteem already, you two.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut alert, let me know if you think it should go up to "Explicit".  
> Still one chapter to go. One with actual plot in it, I promise. And an epilogue probably.

Karkat is surprisingly shy about initiating makeouts. He’s been an enthusiastic participant, sure, but not as much as you’d hoped for back when he first introduced your lips to his. A small part of you worries about it constantly, the thought tugging at the back of your mind as you lean in to kiss him again. As you’re the one who pulls _him_ towards _you_. You feel him relax against your body, the way his lips meet yours with a rush of warmth. He’s so much warmer than you, you almost want to take your shirt off just to cool down. You know it would probably have the opposite effect, though. When you need to take a breather, you pause the movie that has been playing unheeded for the last fifteen minutes. 

“Dude,” you ask, cautiously, “is everything OK? Because I’m worried I’m a little more into this than you are.” 

Karkat snuggles into your chest, avoiding eye contact. You run your thumb in circles at the base of one of his horns, trying to comfort him. To let him know he’s safe. 

“C’mon, Karkat. I can tell something’s wrong. Whatever it is you can tell me, man. Anything’s better than the two of us just sitting here like idiots wishing we could read each other’s minds.” 

You feel him sigh into your shoulder. 

“It’s not you, OK? You didn’t do anything. It’s me. I’m fucking terrified of losing control.” 

He’s still tense, but his body relaxes under your ministrations. Horns seem to be a pale turn-on, and you’ve seen Karkat rubbing at his when he’s been stressed. You seem to be doing a pretty decent job of calming him, even if you do say so yourself. 

“Shit, man. I had no idea you were getting worked up about that. Like, I’ll let you know if I want to slow things down, OK?” 

He nods, but doesn’t say anything else, his face still pressed into your shoulder. You remember the glazed-over look in his eyes when he kissed you the first time. Karkat had wanted to devour you. It hasn’t happened again. He's clearly afraid to let himself go, to trust you to keep a handle on things. You suddenly realize that he’s physically much stronger than you. 

“We could have, like, a safeword. If you wanted. It might help both of us to chill the fuck out.” 

Karkat sits up, confused. You can see the wheels turning in his head. 

“Dave, why the fuck would that work? If you just said ‘stop’, I’d stop if I was capable of it. I know what I could do to you, OK? I can’t...” 

His voice catches in his throat, and you know he’s picturing hurting you and not being able to stop. The same scene is playing out inside your own head. The trouble is, even though you know Karkat would never intentionally do anything you didn’t sign up for, the person behind those glazed eyes isn’t Karkat any more. He’s in there, but no longer behind the wheel. Fuck if you know how to solve that problem. 

You pull him back into a hug, one hand automatically moving to his horn. He shivers slightly as you massage it, his muscles melting like butter. It gives you an idea. 

“What if I just do this, man? I mean, pale shit sort of cancels out red shit, right? If I flip pale on your ass won’t it throw you off your stride?” 

Karkat seems to be considering it, moving his head to one side so you can rub more easily at the base of his horn. Whatever ‘pale’ feels like, it must be pretty damn good. He makes a quiet noise in the centre of his chest that fills your heart with warmth and contentment. It’s a low rumble, a sort of contra-bass hum. You feel it more than you hear it, and you wonder what it sounds like to a troll. The fact that his voice can dip completely out of your hearing range makes you wonder if there are signals you’re missing, if you seem like a blank wall to him. There must be so much more to troll romance than you’ll ever be able to understand. Karkat paps you around the head, pulling you back to reality. 

“Mmm. That might work.” 

Removing your hand from his horn, you pull him up into your lap. He’s so soft, so unresisting, and you wonder what he makes of this pale/red/who the fuck knows relationship. It must be confusing as shit. 

“OK, cool. We can try that then.” 

He nods, and re-starts the movie. You watch the trolls on screen arguing while holding your alien tightly in your arms. Trolls might be stronger than humans, but Karkat is every bit as fragile as you are. When the movie ends and he leads you insistently back to his room, you follow with your heart hammering and a nervous smile on your face. 

This time he is into it, very much so. Lying on your sort-of-boyfriend-or-matesprit-but-you-haven’t-talked-about-that-yet’s bed, feeling yourself melt into his arms, you think this might be what it feels like when gods die and go to heaven. Then you contemplate what a melodramatic idiot you are, and laugh into his mouth. He snickers a little in reply, oblivious to the joke but enjoying the sensation as he runs his tongue across your lip. God, he’s so fucking perfect. You feel his hands creep under your shirt, running his claws gently down your back. It tickles, sort of, but more than that it sends tingles of electricity straight into your dick. This is getting real now, and you aren’t sure how to feel about that. Mostly what you feel is your body playing the tune of ‘yes, more, please’ across every nerve. You remember your get-out clause, the fact that you can flip this around to pale if you get overwhelmed, and you know that isn’t what you want. You’re as red as a goddamned cherry right now, red for the troll nipping at your neck with his razor teeth. 

Strong enough to break you in half, gentle enough to choose not to. You are so fucking red for Karkat. 

Shirts disappear in the gathering heat, and he laughs at the pale hairs at the top of your chest and around what he refers to as ‘flesh nubs’. You like it better than ‘nipples’ especially when he licks one experimentally. The little moan it draws from you summons that glazed look again, but you’re not scared of it this time. Less scared, at least. He’s still equipped with a fearsome arsenal of teeth and claws, after all. He looks up at you before hooking his fingers under your waistband, silently asking for permission. The fact that he does is all the reassurance you need. You push your pants and boxers down; bracing yourself for the inevitable ‘what kind of weird-ass bulge is that’ conversation. He must be out of his skull on hormones, though, because he doesn’t say a word before pulling down his own pants and introducing you to his equipment. 

Whatever it is immediately wraps itself around your dick, and you don’t even care that you didn’t get a decent look at it because Karkat is kissing you senseless and you’re perfectly fine with that. His alien dick is warm and wet and he’s pulsing it somehow in a way that feels a million times better than your hand ever could. You want to feel embarrassed at the noises coming from you, the needy whines and moans that you bet Karkat finds hilarious, but you honestly don’t give a flying fuck. It isn’t long before his enthusiasm and surprising skill have you gasping for breath and now you understand why he’s so fucking loud because this is almost too intense. You hear him make a satisfied trilling sound when your hips buck under him and you release all of the tension in your muscles in with a full-body shudder. He releases you, lets you breathe for a minute, but you know he’s not done yet. He’s still looking at you with hunger in his eyes. 

Karkat’s ‘whatever’ turns out to be a crotch-tentacle, which your brain immediately links with the word ‘bulge’. It’s what you expected from feeling it, but you weren’t expecting the violent shade of red. You kiss him, fighting against the endorphins in your brain telling you to chill the fuck out. He’s still red hot, rocking his hips desperately as he tries to get some friction. Reaching our hand down, his bulge twines itself enthusiastically around your fingers. Squeezing it doesn’t seem like a smart idea, it’s far too soft, but stroking gets a good reaction. Scratch that, an amazing reaction, one you’ve heard quite a lot of lately. Karkat is shaking now, keening, and shit, he’s not going to come from this, is he? He needs something more. You don’t mind at all when he reaches down and pushes two fingers into what you assume is his nook, and then he’s gone. He slumps forward onto your chest, breathing heavily against your shoulder. You stroke his back, pet his gloriously damp hair. When he looks up at you, you’re surprised to see worry in his eyes. 

“You…didn’t stop me.” 

He’s still panting; his mind a fuzz of hormones, but his first concern is for you. You think you might love him just a little bit. 

“I didn’t want to stop you, man. Just needed to know I could, is all.” 

He nods, smiling. After an eternity of boneless cuddling, your limbs wrapped comfortably around one another, you realize your lower half is getting awfully cold. Looking down at it gives you something of a shock. 

“Fuck, dude! There’s red everywhere!” 

Karkat snorts with laughter and retrieves a towel from his sylladex. Mercifully, his mattress is apparently waterproof. You guess he’s had to be prepared for cascades of bodily fluids since his body decided he needed to pail himself into oblivion every other night. 

That night you sleep peacefully, even if Karkat’s hair gets up your nose a couple of times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, I don't buy into the idea that one partner should constantly push the other until they say stop - that isn't a healthy relationship. But Karkat really isn't in control right now, poor thing. The same is _never_ true for humans, no matter what a partner tells you. (not trying to bring the mood down, just a little PSA :P)
> 
> *Learnin' on a wish*


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This probably needs some trigger warnings for non-con (even though nothing terrible happens - don't worry), so please let me know if you think I need to add the archive warning for it. I think that one puts a lot of readers off, so I will probably move to "chose not to use warnings" if that's the case.

"Karkat." You manage to get the word out between punishing kisses. 

"Dude, slow it down a little. I still need to breathe." 

Karkat doesn't seem to be listening, the desperate chirring in the back of his throat giving away how needy he is. This is so different from the first time, the only time, you've done this. It's obvious he's not really in control, but you can handle it. You're pretty sure you can handle it, anyway. A laugh bubbles up in your chest as he tears your shirt off and attacks your neck. Holy shit are you going to have some embarrassing hickeys, but damn that feels good. His hands find their way to your ass and squeeze, and you wince at the pain. Those claws are sharp, but you're pretty sure you he didn't break the skin. 

"Careful with the merchandise, man. You don't want to bruise that peach." 

He snorts, not his usual laugh, more of a guttural grunt. He squeezes again, only slightly less firmly, and scrabbles your boxers and god-tier pants down, his claws dragging against your legs. You spent your childhood in a constant state of battered and bruised; pain is definitely not a kink you can get behind. 

"Karkat, quit it with the claws, OK? I don't like it." 

He looks up at you, eyes clearing a little. 

"What? Shit, sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." 

His voice sounds dreamy, far-away. He's still pretty out of it. You think maybe it's time to call time on this thing before it gets out of hand, but then his tongue is lapping lovingly at your dick and suddenly you don't mind so much. Pulling him up, you kiss your appreciation and everything would be perfect again were it not for the fact that Karkat still has his clothes on. It's a problem that's easily solved, however. 

You admit to losing yourself in the experience, in full-body skin-contact with the boy you casually, nervously referred to as your boyfriend earlier. His answering smile was what got you into this situation in the first place. You’re dragged from your reverie when he gently but forcefully pins both of your hands above your head. You’ve thought about this sort of thing about a lot, OK, probably more than is healthy, but your fantasies had never featured a Karkat at the mercy of an all-consuming lust. He only needs one hand to hold both of your wrists in place, and you realize that you can’t reach his horns. That becomes an immediate problem when you feel his bulge start exploring between your legs and you decide you’ve had enough. Struggling against his hold achieves nothing; his arms might as well be iron bars. 

“Karkat! Fucking stop! This is getting too much, dude!” 

Karkat looks at you, and you know he’s not in there. Your sweet, crabby boyfriend is gone. You don’t know this person, and it scares you. 

“C’mon, I’m serious. Let me go.” 

He recommences his assault on your neck, his bulge working itself lower until you jerk upward when the tip makes contact somewhere you’d really rather it didn’t. At least while he’s like this, anyway. 

“Karkat! Cut it out! I am not OK with that!” 

Tensing and struggling gets you nowhere; his knees and hands are pinning you in place. As a last resort, remembering the way Karkat acts in pale-mode, you fight against all of your instincts and relax your limbs. Going completely limp seems to have more of an effect on him than all of your struggles put together. You can almost see his personality re-surface as his concern for you swells. At last, you feel your heart slow down and your pulse cease roaring in your head. 

“Dave?” 

It’s your name, but it’s also a question. You can hear “are you OK?” and “What’s wrong?” and “What did I do?” all wrapped up in it. How do you explain to your boyfriend that he almost accidentally went where no man has gone before? Not in the case of your own personal universe, at least. 

“Karkat, man, you can’t do that, OK? You can’t fucking restrain my hands like that, I basically can’t do anything to stop you.” 

You neglect to mention what you needed to stop him from doing. He looks guilty enough already, and you don’t want to hurt him. It’s not his fault that his body is telling him to hump like a rabbit on ecstasy, and that his dong evolved to seek out an entrance that just isn’t there on a male human. What he was prodding at was definitely not a nook, and for now it’s off limits. Karkat isn’t stupid, he can tell he did something wrong. Knowing him, he probably thinks it was ten times worse than what actually happened. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice is tiny, so unlike his usual almost-yell. You sigh, hugging him close to you. 

“It’s OK. I forgive you, dude.” You can hear how insincere that sounds. 

He squeezes you, clinging to you like you’re about to get up and leave forever. As if he’s already lost you. You want to tell him it’s not true, that everything’s fine, but the words just sit there in your brain. You love him, you know that now, because you can’t imagine living without him. The problem is that love and trust are different things. 

“I’m sorry too, man. I don’t know what to do. We’re still us though, I promise. I don’t want to not be together.” 

Karkat nods, a tiny sniff into your shoulder warning you that he’s tearing himself to pieces inside. You stroke at one horn, trying to calm him, but it doesn’t seem to be working. Eventually, you dress in silence and he kisses you hard and desperate before you leave for your own room. 

There aren’t any sobs coming through the vents this time, which should be reassuring. You try not to picture him crying silently or pacing up and down, or just sitting in a melancholy trance. You’ve seen him do all of these things before. Karkat likes to pretend he’s a fiery harbinger of rage, but he cares what other people think of him more than anyone you’ve ever met. It’s easy to believe that you’re closer to him than anyone ever has been before, and the responsibility of that is a lead weight in the pit of your soul. 

You’re afraid you’ll be the one to finally break him. 

Before you go to sleep, you pester Karkat to let him know you aren't upset with him. Even you aren't fine right now, you're pretty sure you will be. 

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering  carcinoGeneticist [CG]

TG: karkat   
TG: just letting you know everythings fine  
TG: im fine  
TG: were fine  
TG: its all another word that means the same as fine but isnt fine cause im sick of typing that word  
TG: well get through it ok   
TG: i promise  
TG: <3   
CG: <3   


turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering  carcinoGeneticist [CG]

Your sleep is dreamless but unsatisfying. 

The last thing you expect is to be woken up by the sounds of Karkat acting as fine as fine can be. He sounds a little off, admittedly, a little more desperate than usual, but still like he’s having a good time. It makes you feel a little sick, more than a little superfluous. He obviously doesn’t need you. You get an extra shock a few minutes in when you hear _someone else’s voice_ moaning alongside Karkat. 

It hurts more than bullets to the chest, and you should fucking well know. Marching across to his room, you don’t even bother to knock before pushing your hand to the door switch. It swishes open, and instead of being confronted by your worst fear (a naked Juggalo), your gaze is met by a very embarrassed Karkat peering over the top of a pale, white shoulder. A very familiar shoulder indeed, and an ass that you know like the back of your ass. Because it is yours. Whoever this Dave is, he has some fucking explaining to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy my shitty twist, guys. It's been planned since I started writing chapter 2.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double update to finish this off. Stay tuned for the epilogue.

When the fucker glances over his shoulder, you notice he still has his shades on. It doesn't matter, though, you don't need to see his eyes to know this isn't a dreambubble Dave. That bizarre chiming sensation of being in two places at once rings in your head, as if the universe just pinged you like a tuning fork. This asshole is you from the future. 

"What the fuck!?" is all you can manage, mouth agape as he gives Karkat a possessive kiss and gets up to face you. 

Karkat scrambles for the blankets, his face glowing so hard it's about to go critical. 

The assmunch is taller than you, not by much, but by enough that it's annoying. A big, stupid grin is plastered all over his face, and he's as naked as the day you were born. 

"Hey man. I need your clothes, your boots and your motorcycle." 

You snort with laughter. How could you not? He knows all of your weaknesses, after all. 

"Dude. How long did it take you to come up with that?" 

You're still mad, still confused, but he's you, after all. There's got to be an explanation for all of this. Unlike Karkat, you don't see the point in having möbius-strip arguments with yourself. 

"I remembered it, obviously. It was pretty funny if I do say so myself." 

Karkat is giving both of you the most incredulous look you've ever seen. It's a damn good thing he isn't a time player, or he'd have murdered the first version of himself he encountered without a second thought. 

"Yeah, yeah. Hilarious. Back to my original question; what the fuck?" 

He shrugs, tugging on his discarded pants and giving you that self-satisfied grin again. 

"This is where you tag me out, man. Obviously this whole thing is like a big-ass stable time loop now, but the original issue was that Karkles isn't so great at dealing with things solo-style, and he pretty much went through hell when this hormone business happened. I mean, we helped out for the last part of it, obviously. Because look at him, no way we weren't going to lock that down eventually." 

You nod. Obviously. Karkat looks like he wants to murder both of you, and uses one hand to flip each of you off. 

"So that version of us came up with this plan, y'know, to make things easier for Karkat. Seems to have worked out pretty well." 

OK, you can just about deal with that. You could have done without the visuals, because no-one needs to see their own bony ass mid-fuck, but like he said: the time loop is stable. It had to happen this way. 

Future Dave grabs his shirt, and puts a hand on your shoulder. Condescending prick that he is, you know the next words out of his mouth are going to be irritating as hell. 

"Good luck, champ." 

He pulls something out of his sylladex and hands it to you, before directing a weird growling noise at Karkat. Karkat replies with a noise that sounds like angry locusts. Looking down at the objects in your hands, you realize they're chains. Not just chains, but chains with padded restraints on one end and hefty carabiners on the other. The last thing future you says before he disappears into the inner clockwork of the universe is: 

"Training wheels, bro. Have fun." 

Shit. Well, that was unexpected, to say the least. It's better with him gone, that frequency in your head fades until you feel grounded in the here-and-now again. Two Daves in one room is one Dave too many. You still have some rather pressing questions for your mortified, red-faced boyfriend, however. 

Sitting on the foot of his bed, it's clear that Karkat would rather become one with the wall than talk to you, but you're not letting him off the hook so easily. 

"So, let me get this straight. All those times I could hear you, he was here?" 

Karkat nods, staring dejectedly at his fidgeting hands. 

"And when you kissed me, you had a pretty iron-clad guarantee that I was gonna be interested." 

Nod. 

"And at no point in the time since we started, like, getting serious, did you think to mention that a version of me has been coming back from the future to fuck your brains out." 

Frustration bubbles to the surface of Karkat's mask of shame, and he starts angrily kneading at the blanket as he attempts to explain. 

"Look, I'm sorry, OK? But it's not like I had a choice, when this hormonal bullshit started happening and I couldn't..." He shifts uncomfortably. 

"Couldn't masturbate?" You ask in reply. It takes all of your willpower not to launch into a litany of human-specific euphemisms. You memorize them for later, instead. 

"Yeah. Look, Dave, you know how much I fucking hate myself, there was literally no situation I could fantasize about without thoroughly bulge-blocking myself. I couldn't think about you, because how fucking inappropriate and shitty of me would it have been to think about my best friend like that, especially since the moronic default setting for male humans is apparently 'dudes are fucking gross, get that shit away from me'. Terezi has made it quite clear that she doesn't feel that way about me, so I couldn't think about that without feeling like the shittiest piece of trash imaginable. Basically, I was fucked because I couldn't fuck myself and it was so fucking _painful_." 

That's a lot of "fucks" in one sentence. You feel the anger in your chest drain away, the irritation at being kept in the dark replaced by pity for this poor idiot who can't even beat his meat without worrying about the consequences of his fantasies. 

"Couldn't you pretend to be one of your troll pirates of the seven sexy seas or whatever? Or like, Troll Matt McConaughey?" 

You hope that sounded genuine, and not like you were making fun of him. It's hard to tell from his withering glare. 

"Sure, because pretending to be a poorly-characterized sex object from a trashy novel or stupid romcom is completely non-mortifying." 

Fuck. Karkat has to be some kind of masochist if he can't even get off to his own romance novels. You wonder why he even brought them. Maybe he actually does appreciate the confusing mess of quadrants that constitutes the plot of every single one of them. 

"OK, so when exactly did your fantasies become reality? Did the asshole just drop in with a box of chocolates and a fucking rose between his teeth and sweep you off your horny little feet?" 

He lets out a hollow laugh, an intense look flickering across his face. 

"It wouldn't be chocolates and flowers, Dave. I am not red for that ass." 

Oh. That must have been what all the growling and clicking was about. Future Dave is apparently spades-curious, and you're also pretty damned curious to find out how that happened. Karkat senses your confusion and attempts to explain. 

"This is all my nooksniffing future self's fault, he sent me an idiotic memo that I'm not going to go into right now, basically telling me that Strider McAsshole was going to show up whether I wanted him to or not, and that he'd taught him all of the dominant mating vocalizations, so there was no point in trying to resist. The taintchafing nookstain showed up about ten minutes later and I...I didn't even want to put up a fight. It was basically a fucking dream come true." 

He's looking at you with love and longing and a little bit of something fiery and unfamiliar in his eyes. If that hungry, confrontational spark is kismessitude, maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all. 

Karkat breaks eye contact to reach for something under his bed, and pulls out the most breathtaking chart you've ever seen. It's a calendar covering about two months, each shitty square drawn with Karkat's characteristic lack of skill. Peppering the whole thing are bright red dicks in your own rad style, and you'd bet your best turntables that each one corresponds to a day when you've had a shitty night's sleep. After today, the chart is conspicuously dickless. 

"He brought this monstrosity with him, the arrogant shitmuncher. The night we kissed...he was supposed to show up but he didn't. I thought I'd fucked everything up completely because you'd heard me. Another timeline fucked into oblivion by Karkat Vantas. But the bastard was just late on purpose, I guess to make sure I'd actually have the globes to make a move on you." 

He gives you a weak little smile, which you return. Well. That's a lot to take in. Belatedly, you remember the restraints in your hands. 

"So, these are for like some kinky-ass blackrom shit, then?" 

You really don't want to have to do that just to get him off. Being tied to the bed while Karkat goes to town on you is pretty much the opposite of what you want. Karkat shakes his head. 

"No, shit, nothing like that. I've only seen those once, the first time, and it definitely wasn't black then. They're to keep me from hurting you." 

That puts a smile on your face, despite the revelation that from his perspective, your first time wasn't his first time. That shit doesn't seem to matter right now, though, because you suddenly understand what Future Dave meant by "training wheels". Everything is going to be fine. Better than fine. You're going to be a motherfucking sexual terminator, for fuck's sake. 

And right now, your boyfriend is very naked under that blanket. Karkat blushes deeply at the smile creeping over your face, and you lean forward and kiss him until he can't breathe, running your thumb gently over one grub-scar. 

"I take it this means you're no longer pissed off?" he asks, when you let him up for air. 

You shake your head, grinning, and hold out one of the restraints. 

"Nah man, course not. My horoscope predicts hella hot Karkat sexytimes, so what's not to like? You wanna try these out?" 

He nods, shyly. You can't believe how hot it is to gently attach his wrists to the bed frame, and when you kiss him again you realize the chains are exactly the right length. He can still hold your shoulders, pulling you close, but he can't flip over or restrain you. It's so fucking perfect you wonder why you didn't think of it. You guess you did, in a manner of speaking. 

There's another benefit to having his hands out of the way, as you plan to demonstrate as you trail kisses down his chest and stomach. He asks where the fuck you think you're going, but actions speak louder than words. And Karkat is very loud indeed when you show him just how much you want him to feel good, and the remarkable benefits of not having razormouth. 

You love his noises, his alien scent and the way he tastes. Love him, need him like oxygen. Most of all, you'd do anything for him. Thankfully, what he needs you to do is very enjoyable indeed.

This is going to be awesome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, Future Dave has been practising being as silent as a ninja in the sack, since he doesn't remember hearing himself. He's from about 6 months in the future - once Karkat's hormones have calmed down and they've got the hang of vacillating to black occasionally.
> 
> The epilogue will be from Future Dave's perspective.
> 
> Other thoughts: Thank you HS for ensuring I can spell "McConaughey" correctly without even googling it.
> 
> Any feedback on whether the foreshadowing works on a second read-through would be appreciated - and if there's anything that doesn't make sense/needs changing. Writing a stable time-loop is confusing and there's bound to be a few mistakes in there.


	9. Epilogue 1

“Gross, Dude.” 

You watch as Karkat peels a strip of skin from his upper arm. Normally you’re all about naked Karkat, but watching him moult membranous sheets of dead bug-husk all over the floor is not particularly attractive. The skin underneath is pinkish-raw and painful to touch. You know because he nearly broke your finger when you poked at the first patch to be revealed. 

Moving the wastebasket over to his desk, you make one of the domination clicks that he grudgingly taught you, the one that means “do as I say, or your ass is mine”. 

“Put the dead shit in the trash, Karkat, I mean it. I’m not picking up pieces of my boyfriend up off the floor.” 

He ignores you. You obviously didn’t get the click right, and it’s hardly surprising since you don’t come equipped with serrated chitin vocal cords. A few more tries and you see his ear twitch. 

“Pick it up, assface.” 

You try again, pushing your tongue further up into the back of your throat. This time he puts his nasty-ass personal detritus in the basket, seemingly without pausing in his attempts to draft the memo to his former self. It’s questionable whether he’s just humouring you, pretending you’re doing it correctly, but the way his hands falter at the keys suggests you got it right. All of this troll vocalisation stuff is so completely alien, but apparently you’re going to need it. According to Karkat, the first few weeks of his two-month hormone trip were somewhat intense. 

Slouching over to his desk, you suppress the urge to laugh at his current state of patchiness. He looks like he forgot to apply sunscreen to half of his body before taking a nap on Mercury. Everything from clothes to the breeze from the vents is unbearable torture for his fresh new skin, and his mood is as raw as the rest of him. The poor little guy was promised a growth spurt, but he’s been forced to shed all of his skin for a lousy inch-and-a-half height gain. He still only comes up to your shoulder. You know he’s bitter over the fact he’s probably never going to be physically imposing, but you’ve told him a hundred times that it doesn’t matter. Karkat has the personality of a troll ten times his size; he can dominate a room without even trying. He doesn’t need to be seven feet tall to get people’s attention. He’s certainly loud enough. 

The only parts of him you can touch right now are his horns, so you pet one gently. The subsonic reply rumbling in his chest elicits a stab of pride in yours; of all the matesprimoirailmesises that have never existed, you're the best. It is you. 

"Karkat, chill. It doesn't matter what you write in the stupid memo, as long as you get your point across. It'll automatically come out exactly as it should. How do you not know this after all those priceless arguments you've had with yourself? Man, that shit was comedy gold." 

The rumbling ceases as he jerks his horn out of your grasp, replaced by an angry snarl. 

"Fuck you! If you had to deal with your future self constantly trolling you by pointing out all of your imminent, self-fulfilling mistakes, you'd want to shove hot needles into your dick. All your asshole time-loop selves did was give you a moronic thumbs-up occasionally. Being me is fucking bad enough without having to talk to myself all over the timeline." 

You resist the urge to angrily flick the horn nearest to you. It's probably best to stick to pointing out that he's being an asshole instead. Your internal organs need to stay internal, after all. 

"Yeah, I can see how you had it tougher than me, there, because watching the dead Daves pile up was a real walk in the park." 

The tension drops from Karkat's shoulders as the fight leaves his body. For all his bile and profanity, he hates it when he genuinely hurts you. 

"Fuck. Sorry." 

You plant a kiss on his horn and thrill at the way he shivers as you do so. You know so many ways to make him come apart, and all of them are downright beautiful to watch. 

"S'fine. I know you weren't doing it on purpose. You done with the wording now? I'll get my ass in gear if you are." 

He shrugs, indicating that the wall of grey on his screen is the best he can come up with. In other words, it's exactly one hundred percent correct. Sometimes you wish Karkat could understand your aspect the way you do. You'd settle for him trusting you to use it properly. 

"Dave, you know how important it is that you don't fuck this up, don't you? I don't want to spend the rest of my short, pointless life in a doomed timeline because you let past me rip your throat out." 

He really doesn't get it. The loop is stable, you can feel it weaving snugly into the warp and weft of the universe. The only thing you're nervous about is the prospect of time travelling again. You've grown to despise the role of timeline surgeon that the game forced you into. Soon, you'll be thrown back into the maelstrom, performing temporal triage as you fight to keep the timeline from flatlining. The prospect fills your nightmares, has sent you quaking into Karkat's arms to drive the images of dead and dying friends from your brain. In the dreams, you're always too late; the ultimate irony for the Knight of Time. 

This will be good, you think. Good practice at getting used to temporal shenanigans again, sufficiently low stakes that you can handle it. Making your boyfriend orgasm is hardly something you can fuck up. You've got this covered; you can almost force the shake from your hands. The only stressful aspect is that Karkat will not stop micromanaging you. 

"Dave! Are you even fucking listening? This is really important! It isn't going to be like it is now, OK? He's not going to give a shit if he hurts you, not really. Past me barely knows what the fuck is happening at that point, and trust me when I say that he is not going to be a generous lover." 

"I thought you said it wasn't black the first time?" you ask, worry flooding your brain with ice water. 

His account of things has been hazy, at your insistence (gotta have some room for spontaneity, after all), but you know the basics. You suddenly have concerns about the plan if Past Karkat is going to start throwing spades around. Current Karkat is looking guiltily at his lap. 

"No...it wasn't. Isn't. Won't be...seriously, fuck time-travel grammar, I'm not even going to bother. It's not black, not red, not anything. It's just need, Dave. I needed you so fucking badly, needed anything to stop the pain and let me feel like me again. I don't remember it too clearly, but I pretty much didn't give a flying fuck how you were feeling." 

Well, you knew it wouldn't be roses and soft-focus saxophones, but you don't care. Making Karkat feel good is its own reward. He clears his throat, still avoiding your gaze as he fiddles with the husktop's squeakcritter. You guess there's more. 

"You might want to...uh. Literally get your ass in gear." 

A snort of laugher bursts ungracefully from your nose, and you can't resist tousleing his hair. So that's what he was worried about. 

"Dude. I can take you, don't worry. Bless your nubs for being concerned about my fine ass, but you know I can ride the Karkat rodeo all night long." 

It's his turn to laugh, probably at his memories of the faces you'd made when he made his first explorations into your 'human nook.' It had been painful but completely worth it. You kiss Karkat, mindful of how chapped and sore his lips are, and head to the bathroom to prepare yourself for what lies ahead for you in the past. 

When you re-enter the room, Karkat is glaring at the memo on his screen and scratching at a patch of grey skin on his chest so vigorously that it's started to bleed. You use the warning trill he taught you, the one that just means 'stop', and he immediately freezes. You're grateful you can do that one properly; it's come in handy a few times already. Glancing down at where his claws are gouging at his skin, Karkat swears loudly. He looks at you with that pained expression that makes you want to wrap him in cotton-wool and keep him somewhere safe until all of this shit is over and done with. 

"Sorry. I should be up to my horns in sopor right now, and the whole thing should have been over in less than a day. Fuck my life, Dave. It's pretty much been fucking with me from day one." 

He sounds so tired that you almost offer to stay and take care of him. There really isn't much you can do for him, however. 

"I ran you a bath, man. Not too hot, just barely warm. Put some of that medicated soothing stuff Kanaya made for you in it. Should help loosen some of that dead shit. I'll help you with your back when I'm done blowing your mind in the past." 

Karkat winces as he stands, hobbling toward the ablution trap. You wish you could pick him up, carry him to the bathroom and soothe away the pain. Touching him isn't an option, though. 

"You're good to go," he sighs, "I sent the stupid memo and now I want to drown myself because of how fucking stupid past me is." 

He looks at you meaningfully over one shoulder as he reaches the door. 

"But I won't, I promise. I love you, Strider. Make sure you come back in one piece." 

You give him your best arrogant grin, and affix the stupid paper sign to your chest. 

"I will man, I've already met myself later. There's nothing to worry about. And I love you too, Patches." 

You do, even though he's a grouchy, peeling mess right now, flipping you off as he stumbles toward his bath. Enough to put up with his constant bitching, enough to help him remove the gross remains of his juvenile husk from his back. You love him enough to spend months dealing with his overactive sex-drive. You admit that you maybe love him _because_ of that last one a little bit. 

You blow a kiss at his retreating back as you slip into the flow of time and forge upstream, your heart hammering out a manic beat all of its own.


	10. Epilogue 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! I got you a Karkat memo. It was difficult to wrap.

CURRENT carcinoGeneticist [CCG] RIGHT NOW opened private memo FUCK TO THE FUTURE.

CCG: ALL RIGHT. LISTEN UP, IDIOT.  
CCG: I KNOW YOU'RE READING THIS BECAUSE I REMEMBER READING IT.  
CCG: AND LO, THE SELF-FULFILLING CIRCLE OF FUCKERY IS COMPLETE.  
CCG: MY POINT BEING, HURRY UP AND RESPOND ALREADY SO THAT WE CAN GET THIS EXCRUCIATING BULLSHIT OVER WITH.

PAST carcinoGeneticist [PCG] FROM 4380 HOURS IN THE PAST responded to private memo.

PCG: OH, I'M SORRY, YOU SMUG DOUCHELORD.  
PCG: CLEARLY MY CURRENT STATE OF SEXUAL AGONY ISN'T QUITE HUMILIATING ENOUGH.  
PCG: IT TURNS OUT THIS EXPERIENCE WOULD BE INCOMPLETE WITHOUT INSULTS FROM AN INEXPLICABLY UNSYMPATHETIC FUTURE VERSION OF MYSELF.  
CCG: FOR FUCK'S SAKE, SHUT THE HELL UP.  
CCG: I CAN'T BELIEVE I WAS EVER THIS MUCH OF A WHINY LITTLE NOOKWHIFF.  
PCG: MAKE UP YOUR FUCKING MIND, ASSHOLE. DO YOU WANT ME TO RESPOND OR SHUT UP?  
CCG: THE FORMER, THEN THE LATTER.  
CCG: HARDLY A COMPLICATED CONCEPT, EVEN FOR SOMEONE WHO APPARENTLY HAS YET TO DEVELOP ANY KIND OF MEANINGFUL INTELLIGENCE.  
CCG: THIS MEMO PERTAINS TO SOLVING YOUR IDIOTIC CASE OF SELF-INFLICTED BULGE-BLOCK, SO IT WOULD BENEFIT YOU IMMENSELY TO STOP FLAILING YOUR WRITESTUBS RANDOMLY ON THE KEYS AND PAY ATTENTION TO SOMEONE INFINITELY MORE KNOWLEDGEABLE AND MATURE THAN YOURSELF  
CCG: NAMELY ME.  
PCG: FUCK YOU.  
PCG: WHAT EXACTLY DO YOU THINK YOU CAN DO TO HELP?  
PCG: IF YOU SO MUCH AS SUGGEST CYBERING WITH ME, I WILL TEAR OUT MY OWN THROAT JUST TO PREVENT YOU FROM EVER EXISTING, YOU ARROGANT PIECE OF FUTURE-TRASH.  
CCG: SHUT UP.  
CCG: LONG STORY SHORT, IT ISN'T ME THAT'S GOING TO HELP YOU.  
CCG: IN TEN MINUTES, FUTURE STRIDER IS GOING TO SHOW UP.  
CCG: *HE'S* THE ONE THAT'S GOING TO HELP.  
PCG: WHAT!?  
PCG: I KNOW YOU ENJOY FUCKING WITH ME, BUT THIS IS JUST CRUEL.  
CCG: IT'S TRUE. YOU LITERALLY ONLY HAVE TO WAIT TEN MINUTES TO FIND OUT THAT I AM NOT FUCKING WITH YOU, FOR ONCE.  
PCG: LOOK, WHATEVER INAPPROPRIATE, NAUSEATING FEELINGS I MAY BE HAVING TOWARDS DAVE, HE IS *NEVER* GOING TO FIND OUT ABOUT THEM.  
PCG: HUMANS HAVE *WAY* TOO MANY CONFUSING HANGUPS, AND I'M NOT GETTING MY BLOOD-PUSHER STOMPED ON AGAIN BECAUSE A FUTURE VERSION OF ME THOUGHT IT WOULD BE AMUSING.  
CCG: I'M JUST GOING TO KEEP ON EXPLAINING, IN THE HOPE THAT THE TIDE OF RATIONAL INFORMATION FROM MY END CAN SLUICE AWAY THE EFFLUENCE OF YOUR NONSENSICAL ATTEMPTS TO ARGUE WITH ME.  
CCG: DAVE WILL APPEAR IN TEN MINUTES.  
CCG: HE WILL BE WEARING A LITTLE PAPER SIGN.  
CCG: THAT SIGN WILL SAY WHATEVER YOU DECIDE IT SHOULD SAY, BECAUSE YOU'RE A PARANOID, MAGGOTBRAINED WIGGLER WHO CAN'T EVEN TRUST *HIMSELF* NOT TO SCREW WITH HIM.  
CCG: HE IS GOING TO LET YOU DO *WHATEVER YOU NEED* TO SOLVE YOUR PROBLEM.  
CCG: TRY NOT TO TRAUMATIZE HIM WITH YOUR INEXPERIENCED FUMBLINGS, AND FOR FUCK'S SAKE DON'T HURT HIM.  
CCG: IF YOU DO I WILL FIND A WAY TO MAKE YOUR LIFE EVEN MORE MISERABLE.  
PCG: REALLY? YOU'RE GOING TO ATTEMPT TO THREATEN ME?  
PCG: TELL ME, DO I HIT MY HEAD VERY HARD AT SOME POINT BETWEEN NOW AND YOUR TIME?  
PCG: BECAUSE THAT IS THE MOST PAN-ADDLED IDEA I HAVE EVER HEARD.  
PCG: THAT INCLUDES ALL OF THE BULLSHIT I HAD TO PUT UP WITH FROM OUR MORONIC TEAMMATES.  
PCG: LITERALLY THE FIRST COHERENT THING YOU SAID WAS THAT YOU WERE GOING TO HELP MAKE ME *LESS* MISERABLE.  
PCG: LOOKS LIKE SOMEONE DIDN'T THINK HIS EMPTY THREATS THROUGH.  
CCG: WHATEVER, FUCKSTAIN. I MOMENTARILY FORGOT THAT THERE IS NO POSSIBLE WAY TO MAKE THE EXPERIENCE OF BEING *YOU* ANY WORSE. CALL THAT A WIN IF YOU MUST, BUT IT REALLY ISN'T.  
CCG: IN SUMMARY: STRIDER IS GOING TO FUCK YOU, DON'T BREAK HIM.  
PCG: WHERE DO YOU GET OFF TELLING ME WHAT I FUCKING NEED?  
PCG: HE CAN JUST FUCK RIGHT BACK OFF TO THE FUTURE FOR ALL I CARE.  
CCG: NOW WHO'S BEING A MORON?  
CCG: HERE'S A CLUE TO BRING THAT PAN-TEASER DOWN TO YOUR LEVEL: IT IS YOU.  
CCG: YOU DON'T HAVE A CHOICE, IT ALREADY FUCKING HAPPENED.  
CCG: DON'T TRY AND PRETEND YOU DON'T WANT IT EITHER.  
CCG: YOU'VE BEEN PRACTICALLY DROOLING OVER HIM FOR PERIGREES.  
PCG: SHUT THE HELL UP!  
PCG: HE'S MY BEST FRIEND, YOU ASS!  
CCG: WELL, IF YOU MANAGE NOT TO FUCK EVERYTHING UP COMPLETELY AND CAUSE A TIMELINE-ENDING PARADOX, HE MIGHT BE WILLING TO BE *MORE* THAN JUST YOUR BEST FRIEND.  
PCG: ...SERIOUSLY?  
CCG: YES.  
CCG: FOR SOME REASON THE IDEA OF A RELATIONSHIP WITH US DOESN'T CAUSE ALL OF HIS INTERNAL ORGANS TO FLY OUT OF HIS WASTE-CHUTE AT THE SPEED OF SOUND.  
PCG: FUCK.  
PCG: HOW DOES IT HAPPEN?  
CCG: I'M NOT FUCKING TELLING YOU, FIGURE IT OUT FOR YOURSELF.  
PCG: ASSHOLE.  
PCG: SHIT, I HAVEN'T EVEN HELD HANDS WITH HIM YET, I DON'T WANT TO JUMP STRAIGHT TO SEX.  
PCG: DON'T SEND HIM. FUCK, ABORT MISSION, THIS FEELS WRONG.  
CCG: NO CAN DO. IT'S ALREADY HAPPENED.  
CCG: IT'S MY DAVE, NOT YOURS. HE KNOWS WHAT HE'S DOING.  
PCG: NO NO NO, FUCKING STOP HIM!  
PCG: I'M NOT GOING TO DO THIS.  
CCG: DON'T BE SUCH AN UNGRATEFUL LITTLE SHIT, HE'S DOING THIS TO KEEP YOU SANE.  
CCG: I TAUGHT HIM ALL THE DOMINATION CALLS, SO DON'T EVEN BOTHER TRYING TO FIGHT HOW MUCH YOU WANT HIM.  
PCG: YOU DID WHAT!?  
PCG: WHY???  
CCG: FOR HIS PROTECTION.  
CCG: WHAT DO YOU WANT THE SIGN TO SAY?  
PCG: WHAT SIGN?  
CCG: HOLY SHIT, JUST READ UP THE FUCKING MEMO.  
CCG: ACTUALLY, FUCK IT. YOU MISSED YOUR CHANCE.  
CCG: THE SIGN WILL READ "SUCK MY DICK, INGRATE."  
CCG: ENJOY.  
PCG: FUCK YOU!  
CCG: YOU'RE THE ONE GETTING FUCKED HERE.

CURRENT carcinoGeneticist [CCG] RIGHT NOW closed private memo FUCK TO THE FUTURE.


	11. Epilogue 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are probably loads of mistakes in this, but I wanted to get it finished. Merry Christmas from the Smut Fairy - she has filled your fishnet stocking with gay smut.

A very startled, strangely young-looking Karkat greets you with a loud "FUCK!" as you surface, six months in the past. He may have been expecting you, but you guess watching the object of your secret affections emerge from nothingness is pretty jarring. He's tense; he has his back pressed against the wall as he crouches on the bed. Karkat looks like he's going to start screaming or yelling or maybe outright growling at you. You press a finger to your lips, thankful that the first human hand-gesture you taught him was 'shut the hell up'. It seems to be working because he snaps his gaping mouth shut so quickly his fangs click together. 

Karkat is still frowning, and you can see fear in those big orange eyes, mixed with the now-familiar sexual hunger. Shit, the the last thing you want is for him to be scared of you. Slowly, smiling your most reassuring smile, you approach his bed and sit down. Discarding the paper sign and throwing it dead on-target into his waste-basket with a cocky grin seems to break the tension a little. He tries to speak again (no doubt a litany of inventive cursing), but you quietly trill at him to stop, while repeating the finger-to-lips 'shhh' signal. 

He flinches a little when you take his hand, squeezing it gently. An uncharacteristic gasp escapes his mouth when you slip off your shades; this Karkat has never seen your eyes before. The affection and amusement dancing in them obviously makes him feel a little better, because he answers your grin with a nervous smile. You lift his hand and kiss each finger softly, all while gazing lovingly into his eyes. He laughs quietly, embarassment painting his cheeks greyish-pink, and you know you've slipped beneath his emotional shield. Ironic romantic gestures for the win. 

When you lean in and kiss him, Karkat shivers with desire and nerves and all consuming _need_. He's vibrating with worry and fear, just like you knew he would be. He always thought his first time would mean his death, after all. The first troll to get a look at that candy-red bulge would have torn him to shreds. Or, knowing Karkat, they would have thrown themselves in the path of a culling fork to try and save him. Even your own, Future Karkat struggles with the concept that everyone who's ever known him cares deeply about him. 

Need overtakes caution as he pulls you closer, claws digging into your back even through layers of fabric. The kiss is clumsy, a mess of teeth and probing tongue, but the keening sound in the back of his throat makes it all worthwhile. You manage to tear your mouth away, rubbing one horn gently as a distraction. His body goes limp against you, and you're left with a very aroused troll panting dazedly into your shoulder. You kiss his neck, relieved that he doesn't seem to be freaked out by the blatant quadrant-blurring. Whispering quietly into his ear, you fill him in on a little background information. 

"Hey, man. So, Future You and Future Me are totally an item, which is pretty much the most awesome thing imaginable. I can't really say much about it, but the dumbass memo Future You sent was completely straight-up true. Nobody's messing with you, I promise." 

Karkat shudders against you as you return to trailing kisses down his neck, and you can almost feel him letting go of his self-control. That's why you're here, it's the whole point of these time-hopping shenanigans, but it still makes your stomach lurch with panic when he pushes you forcefully onto your back. Pinned beneath him, there's nothing you can do to stop him from wrenching your shirt up over your head, even as he tries to maintain contact with your lips. Not that you want to stop him, you remind yourself. Karkat-gone-wild is your goddamn sexual Everest: terrifying and potentially lethal, but yours to conquer. 

Claws rake your sides as he stabs his tongue into your mouth, and you meet each thrust with a parry of your own, fighting for dominance even as you know you're going to lose. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer, and feel his moans send "fuck me" signals straight to your crotch. He might not have a clue what he's doing, but ravenous Karkat is still incredibly hot. You weren't aware of any kind of submission kink in your developing sexual psyche (Rose would probably have a lot to say about that, but your sister is the last thing on your mind right now), but your dick seems to know what it likes, and what it likes is the feeling of being completely overwhelmed. 

Karkat is far from gentle when he yanks your pants and boxers down, eager for access to a bulge and nook that aren't there, at least in the conventional sense. The confused expression on his lust-filled face is so funny that you have to stifle a loud laugh - now he doesn't know what the fuck to do. You sit up and kiss him again, eager to get him out of his clothes so you can show him what human junk is useful for. He flinches when you push a hand up under his shirt, and you remember what Future-Him told you about his personal issues. 

A few weeks ago, you'd been badgering him for details of how all of this business had started, why it was needed in the first place. You knew he'd had problems getting himself off, but he'd skirted around telling you why. It was something to do with his self-hatred, you knew that much. 

He'd explained, unable to look at you, that he had always felt deeply repulsed by his body. That it had been a source of hatred for most of his young life; his tiny frame and mutant blood color were the things that had condemned him to a short and no-doubt pointless life, even as he railed against that inevitability with hours upon hours of sickle training. The game had saved him from certain death, but doomed him to getting his heart broken. Terezi, the only person he'd ever felt flushed for, had rejected him immediately after meeting him in person. What bigger clue could the Universe provide that he was just as repellant to others as he was to himself? 

He never looked at his body; he got changed with his eyes closed, deliberately kept his gaze from falling onto reflective surfaces. He hated himself so passionately that he couldn't even jerk off when his mutant body demanded it. 

You'd pulled him into a tight embrace, mashed tears and snot into his hair as you tried to stem the tide of sympathy within you. It had physically hurt to think of him feeling that way. You'd told him that you loved him, that he was beautiful and smokin' hot and you didn't give a shit about the lies he told himself when he was just an idiot kid. You'd marched him into the bathroom, stood him in front of the mirror, and pointed out all of the things you loved about him. You'd told him you weren't going to take any more bullshit about him being repulsive, that he wasn't allowed to question your attraction to him. He'd nodded and smiled a little, but you still don't know if it got through to him. You could make him look at himself, but you wish that you could make him _see_ himself. Maybe you will eventually, given enough time. 

Here and now, this Karkat is making an unhappy growling sound in the back of his throat. You remember that you're here for him, not to get your kicks from banging a younger version of your boyfriend. He hisses with suspicion when you pull the restraints from your sylladex, calming only when you fix your own wrists into the cuffs. Making a heart symbol by pressing together the thumb and forefinger of each hand seems to soothe him, and he takes the other ends of the laughably heavy-duty chains when you hand them to him. They were built to restrain a troll, but they'll make do as devices to assure him he can stay in his comfort zone. Naked, chained up and staring down a lust-crazed Karkat is about ten billion miles out of yours. You don't feel afraid, though. You feel electric. 

He doesn't take his shirt off. Instead, he pounces on you with claws worryingly extended. Feeling them dig into your side hard enough to draw blood, you trill as accurately as you can with his head buried in your neck. He freezes immediately. A loud stage-whisper of "claws!" from you, and the feeling of knives jabbing into your kidney eases. You let yourself breathe again; you still have some control over the situation. Karkat's kisses aren't quite as brutal this time, even as he sucks marks into your neck and chest. 

He looks up at you with fire in his eyes as he sheds his pants, his bulge is desperate enough for attention that it bypasses any concerns about exposing it. The pure, uncut desire in those eyes is breathtaking, and you feel the arousal building sharply in your stomach. Karkat wants you more than life itself right now. When he slips inside you, working his way deeper with more force than you've ever experienced, you have to bite down hard on a whine that matches the one he makes into your shoulder. Holy shit are you ever glad that your Karkat told you to prepare yourself, because this version if him wouldn't know restraint if it smacked him in the face. The writhing, pulsing movements his bulge is making brush over and over at the spot inside you that makes you lose it, and you want to scream at the pleasure and pain and pure overstimulation. It's too much, too intense, and you never want it to end. 

Not being able to touch yourself is its own special torture, because you would come right this second if you could only reach your dick. Trolls don't thrust or even move much during sex (unless you're the one topping, of course), because those tentadicks can play a nook like a piano without any assistance from the rest of the troll. It's a blessing (because holy hell yes, it feels amazing), and a curse (because Karkat is just laying on top of you, claws in your shoulders and mouth locked onto your neck).

Desperate for friction of any kind, you roll your hips up into him and make a click in the back of your mouth. It sounds shitty, you probably didn't even get close to getting it right, but he somehow gets the message that you want him to move with you. Doing so obviously feels good for him too, because his moans increase in volume until you know for certain that the younger version of you a few rooms over isn't getting any sleep. A few undulations of his hips and you're gone, spent, defeated. It takes all of your strength not to make a sound as the orgasm washes over you. The trophy for 'Best at Topping' goes to Karkat Vantas, king of the prostate. He keeps pushing and probing into you for a few more seconds before you see him reach for his nook. Then, mercifully, it's game over; Karkat is gasping and groaning and gripping you so tightly it feels like he might crush you. You feel slimy as shit from the waist-down, the familiar feeling of being coated liberally with Karkat secretions. He looks at you with unfocused eyes when you nudge his head with your shoulder, and you wave one arm to indicate that you'd like to be released now, if it's not too much trouble. He obliges sleepily. 

Karkat is as limp as a broken marionette, and is seemingly happy to be hugged tightly until you can both breathe normally again. You kiss one horn. You love him so goddamn much. At some point in his future, this thing between you will turn black, or as black as things ever get. In reality, it's more of a pinkish-grey; a 'let's pretend' version of kismessitude with the claws and teeth removed. It suits both of you just fine: the boy who grew up covered in cuts and scrapes, and the troll who's never truly hated anyone. Your relationship is messy and chaotic and pinballs constantly between the quadrants, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Through it all, Karkat has always made you feel safe. Now you can return the favour to the bone-weary bundle of troll in your arms. You whisper softly in his ear: 

"Love you, man." 

By the time you start to feel cold, Karkat is fast asleep. He'll have a hell of a mess to clear up tomorrow, but at least he'll be able to think straight. After peeling yourself off the bed, you head to his desk to deposit the dick-schedule that a now non-existent Dave and Karkat drew up. Like the restraints, the chart has become a juju of sorts, no-one created them and they probably can't be destroyed. Timeline powers are fascinating and all, but right now you just want to rest. You gather your clothes, kiss Sleeping Beauty goodbye, and slide back along the fabric of time until you reach your own personal corner of the future. 

Karkat is in the bath, peeling like there's no tomorrow, when you limp into the bathroom. He winces at the sight of the scratches and claw-marks all over you. 

"Fuck. You look like shit, Dave." 

You laugh at the horror in his voice and climb into the bath at the opposite end. He barely has time to draw his legs up and out of the way, but you're tired and sore and you don't care that the water is full of unmentionable floaty bits. It feels good to wash the gunk off your body. Karkat raises an eyebrow at you as you turn the water pink. 

"I take it the mission was a success?" he asks, absently resuming his quest to remove the rest of his juvenile skin. 

"Yup." you reply, relaxing into the water. It's so fucking gross but you don't give one tiny, insignificant shit. For now, this is exactly where you want to be. 

"I rocked your casbah, babe." 

Karkat grins and splashes you, sending a piece of floating skin into your protesting face. Later, you will really enjoy making him pay for that.


End file.
